Pinned Into the Mud
by Lex Coverdale
Summary: Another chance encounter between a forsaken planet's inhabitant and a member of Project Freelancer. -*RvB Oneshot/Pistol In the Mud Sequel*-


**\- Pinned Into the Mud -**

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_(Halo (c) Microsoft Studios, Bungie &amp; related creators; Red vs. Blue (c) the Rooster Teeth team. Text (c) L.Q. Coverdale. Content includes mentions of death, violence and some inappropriate language.)_

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She thought she wasn't afraid to die here, so beaten down and battered like this.

The mercenary had one foot on her tiny, bony chest, pressing down so hard she couldn't breathe. All around her shack, ramshackle before and now borderline ruined, the few things she owned had been scattered - her papers. A few photos. Some blankets. The last bag of cheap, UNSC-issued rice that she had taken from an aid stand. Her pistol was in the man's hands, inspected quietly before being unloaded with a grunt.

"Not worth it," the fighter muttered. He threw the gun over his shoulder, so casual and calm in tossing the weapon outside of the tiny building. Nearly suffocating on the ground, the girl wheezed and weakly reached after it, her arm flopping to the ground as the foot pressed harder. Whoever'd hired this ass, they'd picked a fucking_ giant _to take care of her with - he could probably snap her neck in an instant. She'd fought back when he came in, and he'd dislocated her jaw and knocked out a few teeth with one backhand alone.

Why was she still alive when the bastard had his chance? Was he going to ruin her in more than one way, make her beg and scream all the while as he did it? She hoped he wasn't going to - there was a quiet _crrrk-crack _and a splitting pain up her chest, the girl's vision going blurry. A wheezy cry came as she screwed her eyes shut, dizzy despite being flat on her back on the floor; there was the faint _clink _of moving armour as the mercenary shifted above her.

"Heat to Control, come in," the hired gun barked into his radio. "Found a civilian, it's a girl. She tried to resist, but was taken down - what do you want me to do with her?"

She tried to swear at him. Something venomous, something angry tried to choke out from between her teeth, but she wasn't being allowed enough air to speak. A gargled choke was the only sound in that silence, mixed with another crack in her chest. The pain was getting worse, drowning out the sounds around her.

"You sure, sir?"

The pressure on her chest lessened, and she gasped a mouthful of air in a desperate second of relief. There was the clicking and sliding of an opened chamber, and then the quiet _swit, swit, swit_ of rounds being put in.

"Yessir. I'll take care of it, sir."

She made a horrified noise, and the gun went between her eyes. The shock of the situation, combined with the still-warm end of the gun from other firings, sharpened her vision. Her eyes were round and wide as they stared into a faceless visor, holding in fear her last sight.

"Sorry about this, hun."

She felt her heart stop. Her jaw clenched instead of letting her scream. She sucked in air through her nose, and to her right, something leapt from the darkness. A wildcat's cry was on the heels of a muzzle flash, bullets flying into the ceiling of the shack and making holes for collected water to fall through. The cold remnants of an old rainfall splattered against her left eye and both cheeks.

Movement filled the shack. Kicks, punches and shouting whipped the air into a wild frenzy - the girl was no longer sure of what was going on. All she could process was the flinging aside of the mercenary's weapon, the man following his firearm as he was thrown into the shack's side. Rotting timbers snapped and splintered away, letting light spill into the hut to hurt the young woman's eyes. Strong arms and tightly-gripping hands effortlessly picked her up, tossing her over a heavily-armoured shoulder. The air escaped the girl's lungs again, and she coughed and sputtered painfully.

"Not today, asswipe!"

Her saviour was a woman - where had the girl heard that voice before? The all-black plating was familiar, too. Words escaped the girl as she bounced along, her rescuer running as fast as possible over collapsed buildings and broken vegetation. Such jostling quickly knocked the girl into unconsciousness better than any syringe would.


End file.
